


Dear Sebastian

by SweetnessandLight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, I'm Sorry, It will get sadder, Jim is a Little Shit, Love Letters, M/M, PS I love you, Poor Sebastian, Post-Reichenbach, Protective Sebastian, Revenge, Sad, Some Humor, Strippers, True Love, Why Did I Write This?, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9555752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetnessandLight/pseuds/SweetnessandLight
Summary: Post Reichenbach, P.S. I Love You AU.Months after Jim Moriarty takes his own life and just as Sebastian is running out of things to hold on to, he begins to receive letters from Jim.





	1. Letter #1

Where an unknown sound echoing through the flat once would have once snapped Sebastian’s eyes open, putting him on alert to any risk of intrusion, now it barely roused him.

Everything was _quiet_ now. Far away; like all sounds were travelling through glass before they reached his ears.

It had been the sound he heard on that day, the sound that echoed through his head constantly and made his skin crawl, that had rendered the world so silent. The gunshot had echoed across to the building he was positioned in, eyes fixed firmly on John Watson who resided in the street below, and he had just _known._

Sebastian wasn’t one to believe in souls or an afterlife, but he had felt something happen in that moment; that gut—wrenching feeling of something ceasing to exist where it used to, of a presence leaving the Earth forever.

He lay on his back on the unmade bed, still dressed in the clothes he wore yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. His eyes were shut, but he didn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept in weeks.

It was a Tuesday, or so he suspected, and judging by the offensive orange glow shining through his eyelids it was either sunset or sunrise. He didn’t bother opening them to check. Just like he didn’t open his eyes when something was pushed gently through the letterbox.

He still saw him with his eyes closed; saw the flecks of brown in his eyes, the chapped skin of his lips, the way the sunlight glinted on the gel slicking his hair back. He kept looking, for hours on end, terrified that one day he would forget what James Moriarty had looked like.

_Remember me._

Jim had murmured that once, meaningless. Sentiments lost between kisses.

It was all that was left to Sebastian now, that sentiment. It was all he could do. Remember him.

He lay there for a little while longer; the light vanishing around him, before heaving himself off the bed and wandering through the flat. His fingers itched.

After glancing half heartedly towards the kitchen and deciding food wasn’t what he needed, he seized a packet of cigarettes which lay open on the coffee table, lighting one up numbly.

Jim never allowed him to smoke inside. Said there was too much designer in this flat to allowed Sebastian’s grubby little habit to scuff it all up.

 _Jim’s not here,_ he thought bitterly.

He exhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to billow up around his face and sting his eyes, blinking back tears.

The lounge was a mess; Sebastian has trashed it the first day he came home alone just over a month ago, hadn’t made much of an attempt to tidy it up since then, and so the mess had accumulated. There were empty glasses scattered over every surface, and a couple that lay in shards on the floor, documents had been strewn across the coffee table haphazardly, and the widescreen tv had been torn off its hinges and lay face down in one corner.

The most recent contribution to the mess was a strip of wallpaper that had been torn down and left hanging limply over a glass cabinet positioned beneath it, revealing a chunk of grey wall behind. Seb winced. He didn’t remember doing that.

He’d been drunk again last night, and any kind of control over his anger he had while sober had always instantly evaporated after a couple of drinks. Two days after it had happened he’d been drinking himself to the point of near death in some dingy local bar when someone had looked at him the wrong way. He couldn’t even remember if it had been a man or a woman; not that it mattered. It was impossible to tell by the time he’d finished with them anyway.

 _Wallpaper is good,_ he told himself, _wallpaper doesn’t press charges._

Seb padded over to the door, cigarette still held lightly between his forefingers.

The floor beneath the letterbox was cluttered with post; letters, bills, takeaway leaflets. Sebastian hadn’t even inclined his head to regard any of it until now, but something new lay on top of the pile. Fresh.

One letter that didn’t share the simple print of monochrome names and addresses. It lay quietly, no stamp, and was made of a heavier paper, with one word written across the front in a small, neat handwriting.

_MORAN_

Sebastian leant down to pick it up slowly, a small shadow of what would have once been curiosity flickering to life inside him. He didn’t recognise the handwriting; maybe it was an anonymous threat, or blackmail attempt.

At one time he would have actually _smiled_. He could do with some bloodshed.

He turned the letter over in his hands, tearing through the envelope roughly, ignoring his shaking fingers.

The letter within was hand-written on the same paper as the envelope; heavy and soft. It looked a little long to be a threat.

Seb’s eyebrows furrowed as he began to read.

_Sebastian,_

_Surprise. You didn’t think I’d just leave you without a goodbye, did you?_

Sebastian’s knees buckled and he grabbed the arm of the sofa to steady himself. Of course he hadn’t recognised the handwriting, who did he know that never wrote anything down if they could type it instead?

Jim. Jim. Jim. _Jim._

His eyes frantically swept across the rest of the letter.

_You should have had more faith, Moran, you know loose ends just won’t do. No no no, I’ve been working on a little something for you; I left plans to keep Sherlock Holmes busy in my absence so I thought it only fair to leave some for my dear sniper also. Albeit less extravagant, yours will be considerably more fun._

_I’ll start with some reminders for you, you’re probably a bit of a mess right now, apologies for that. You are to stay alive. You are to feed yourself, keep yourself clean and safe, don’t drink excessively and do NOT smoke in my flat, under any circumstances._

_This first letter isn’t the most exciting, but will be one of the most important. I’ve left an address enclosed which you are to go to, all arrangements have already been made, all you need to do is tell them your name. I’m looking out for you, Sebastian._

_You’re going to be angry, I know, but that always was how you dealt with things, wasn’t it? My sweet, angry boy. So much hatred. It may never pass but all the best things don’t. I know you understand why I did it, my days were always numbered and you always knew that. Besides, you have to die young or else no one remembers you, right?_

_Now, off you pop. You’ll be hearing from me soon._

_P.S. I love you._

The letter slipped from Sebastian’s fingers.

The silence was fading away and his head began to throb; suddenly he could hear _everything._ He sank to the ground slowly, arms reaching up to cradle his head as sobs racked through him.

He’d never known pain like this. Jim was gone, but he was saying goodbye, not the clean break Seb had initially tried to accept.

The feeling, the _adrenaline_ , washed over him as he sat there, legs drawn into his chest and tears streaming down his face. He felt like he’d just taken a hit after being denied his addiction for too long; immediately he needed more.

He scrambled around the floor for the letter, finding it and grabbing his phone which had been lying face down on the coffee table for days, before searching the address written on the back.

It was close; a fifteen minute tube journey.

He didn’t get changed- didn’t even check his reflection before grabbing his keys and striding out of the flat. It was a sunny day, but cold. Goosebumps prickled along his bare forearms and he walked towards the tube station, ignoring them as well as the disapproving looks from bystanders. He was aware of how he probably looked- still a bit drunk, unwashed, unfriendly.

The train journey was short and he’d re-read the letter five times by the time he reached his stop, shoving it into the pocket of his jacket as he pulled out his phone to follow the map to the destination.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the building was nice, a hotel by the looks of it, or maybe offices. Seb didn’t much care. He was faced with a reception as he walked in, glancing down at the letter before striding past the person chatting with the receptionist to state.

“I’m here to see Benjamin Nicholai.”

They both turned to stare at him in distaste.

“You’re going to have to-“ The receptionist began before he cut her off.

“I’m Sebastian Moran.”

A flicker of recognition crossed her face and she shot the man she’d been talking to an apologetic look.

“Sorry, Steve. Is it alright if I deal with this?”

“Of course.” Steve smiled, shooting one last glance in Seb’s direction before walking across the lobby and into another room.

“Mr Moran.” The receptionist said, picking up the phone and beginning to dial,

“I’ll have Mr Nicholai come down and see you right away.”

She avoided eye contact with him as she held the phone to her ear, tapping the fingers of her free hand on the desk.

“Sir, he’s here.” She said simply, before hanging up and shooting Sebastian a polite and entirely un-genuine smile.

“He’ll be right down.”

Seb nodded, taking a few steps away from the desk; that seemed to relax the receptionist a little, he saw her shoulders drop in his peripheral vision. A few minutes passed and Sebastian was reading the letter again, wandering in small circles over the rug in the centre of the lobby.

_I’m looking out for you, Sebastian._

“Mr Moran.”

He glanced up as he was addressed, coming face to face with who he assumed was Mr Nicholai. He was tall, Seb’s own height, but slimmer. Drawn.

 The man held out his hand, gesturing for Seb to shake it; left handed. He held a folder under his right arm which was tucked full of paper.

“Mr Nicholai. Call me Ben.”

“What’s that?” Sebastian asked, ignoring the hand and focusing on the folder.

The man smiled.

“Come through, Mr Moran, can I call you Sebastian?”

“Yeah.” Seb murmured as he followed him into the room Steve had disappeared into- it was a waiting room of sorts, a conference room come lounge area. Ben lead them to a table in the corner, two large leather armchairs flanking it.

“Please.” He gestured for Seb to sit before making himself comfortable and placing the folder down on the table.

“Now, I imagine you’ll want to get straight to business.” He began as Sebastian sat uneasily.

“We’ll start with these.” He took out a brown envelope which was stuffed full and slid it across the table towards his guest.

Seb took the envelope and slid the contents onto his palm- there were passports, three, each with an accompanying driving license. He opened the first one; the picture belonged to him, but not the name. Each was different, new dates of birth, new countries of citizenship.

English. Irish. American.

“He prepared these should you find yourself in need to disappear, your criminal records have also been wiped for the moment.” He smiled as if he wasn’t insinuating Sebastian was likely to continue committing violent crime in the future.

“The next thing is the will.” Ben continued as Sebastian poured over his potential new identities.

“First of all, I hope you understand that none of this is exactly legal and I wouldn’t advise discussing this with any lawyers. But, for all intents and purposes,”

He took a wad of paper out of the folder and handed it to Sebastian,

“James Moriarty has left everything to you.”

Seb took the paper slowly, his heart hammering. The documents were stapled together and slid inside a plastic wallet, across the top the words,

_The Last Will and Testament of James C. Moriarty_

“Everything?” He asked, dragging his eyes from the paper to look questioningly at the man in front of him.

“There are multiple assets left in your possession; four properties owned in England, one in Ireland, two in Germany and one in Egypt, shares in multiples companies listed in those documents and money held in over 12 bank accounts across Europe.”

Seb blinked. He’d always known Jim had money- an obscene amount- but it had seemed like an abstract concept at the time. His employer paid for everything Sebastian would ever need and he barely saw any cash for the four years they lived together.

“How much?”

“The combined sum of the properties, shares and money comes to just over four hundred and seventy million.” Ben said, his voice extraordinarily matter-of-fact.

_I’m looking out for you, Sebastian._

The air left Seb’s lungs abruptly and he had to remind himself to inhale. It was a devastatingly intimate gesture. Not that Jim had ever had an issue with throwing money around, but to leave _everything_ to Sebastian. Everything he owned in this world. Seb bit his lip until it bled, aware of Mr Nicholai still watching him.

“Did he tell you anything else?” He asked slowly.

Ben Nicholai took one last piece of paper out of the folder and gave it to Seb. It was small, business card sized, with a simple message written across it in the same small handwriting of the letter.

_Your face._


	2. Letter #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Some descriptions of violence in this chapter.

In the next few weeks Sebastian attempted to pull himself together. It wasn’t easy; more than once he drank himself into an execrable state, hurling various objects around the flat as he slurred obscenities directed at a man who wasn’t there.

But the meltdowns weren’t so frequent anymore, and more than anything he found himself lost in a quiet sort of sadness. Sebastian had never been one to express his feelings quietly- fury was his default- fury and bitterness. Jim had been sad. In the quietest way; Seb would see it in moments when Jim thought he wasn’t looking, the façade would slip and he was suddenly just a young boy from a small town in Ireland who knew too much, felt too much.

_You left your sadness behind, my love. But you left it here with me._

Seb would still lie on his back, remembering. He still cried. Still smoked in the flat.

Two days after the first letter he had paid the bills. It was a alien gesture, it had been years since he’d had to keep up with outgoing payments, but he was determined to keep the flat. Benjamin Nicholai had seen fit to recommend Seb temporarily moved into one of the other London properties, advice Seb wholeheartedly ignored; the flat was a mess, smaller than most of the other residencies Jim kept, but it was _theirs._ The sheets still smelt like Jim’s cologne, an opened packet of chewing gum still lay on the bedside table.

The next day he had stocked the kitchen full of food, shoving tins and packets into every available crevice so as to put off the next shopping trip for as long as possible. He was yet to eat any of it, but having it there just felt like an achievement in itself. Jim had told him to feed himself, and this was a start.

A month passed before the second letter arrived, Sebastian had been obsessively checking the letterbox multiple times a day, and the postman now darted out of the building after delivering the post since Seb had confronted him and demanded to know where the letters were coming from. He’d been a bit over zealous, and the postman bruised easily.

It was early in the morning- Seb was awake. Like always.

The sound had carried through the lounge and the ajar bedroom door as it had done once before, but this time Sebastian was waiting. He leapt off the bed and tore through the living area to grab the letter seconds after it hit the floor, flipping it over to see his name written in the now familiar handwriting.

His heart thumping uncomfortably loudly and the sound of his pulse ringing in his ears, he ripped open the envelope, two pieces of paper falling out onto his palm. He turned the smaller one over in his hands- another address he didn’t recognise- before devouring the larger one.

_Sebastian,_

_Hello again, dear. I bet you’ve been eagerly awaiting the arrival of this second letter, bless you. It’s a cracker; you’re going to love it._

_Remember Adrian Kozlov? Of course you do. That was a fun day out, well, maybe not so much for you but I enjoyed myself._

Sebastian’s teeth clenched. Three years ago Jim had arranged a meeting with the representative of a rouge government in Russia to trade information; Adrian Kozlov was one of the most unpleasant men he had ever had the displeasure of meeting, and in his line of work he wasn’t short of comparisons. Jim had happened to rub the man up the wrong way, as he did with most people he met, but Kozlov wasn’t as scared of him as he ought to have been.

Jim had said something, Seb didn’t even remember what, something that had crossed a line, and Kozlov had stood abruptly, barked an obscenity in Russian and spat in Jim’s face.

_Spat._

Sebastian had been on his feet seconds later, barrel of his handgun pressed into Kozlov’s forehead as rage ignited inside him. He’d waited for Jim’s go ahead, only to be left hanging.

He’d turned to look at his employer, who was sat perfectly still, Kozlov’s saliva still splattered across his face.

“Well.” He had raised his eyebrows, taking the sleeve of Sebastian’s jacket which lay across the back of the seat next to him and wiping his face,

“You’re a little forward, Adrian, I would have thought you’d take me out to dinner first.”

He hadn’t allowed Sebastian to kill Kozlov, saying the business arrangement was too important to jeopardise for the sake of impulsiveness. Seb was furious, and had been bitter about the entire event ever since.   

_I know you struggled with that one, you were such a loyal attack dog and I denied you your purpose. But, now that I’m dead and there is no need to maintain relations, I’m giving you a little treat. No one ever could hold a grudge like you._

_I’ve enclosed Kozlov’s address, he’s shacked up somewhere in Surrey, early retirement. What you do with that information is entirely up to you; though I trust you’ll be creative and have some fun. For me._

_As for you, I hope you’re doing right by my tremendous fortune. Money is made to be spent, Sebastian, buy yourself a couple of new cars, get yourself fitted for some new suits for God’s sake._

_Do you miss me? I miss you. Well, I’m dead so chances are I’m not capable of conscious thought at the moment, but the intentions are there. I thought of taking you with me, you know. Should I need a little company down here; but you’re not meant for this fate, Sebastian. You were made to live. Fast and wild and angry as you always were._

_So go on, re-embrace the mindless violence, wreak some havoc. Think of me._

_Until next time._

_P.S. I love you._

Seb felt a smirk creeping onto his face for the first time in months as he wiped a tear away absent-mindedly, tasting salt in his mouth.

Jim knew him better than he knew himself. He hadn’t spared a thought towards Kozlov in the past few months, barely in the past year, but his fingers itched. His hands still trembled, constantly, stilled only by the touch of his rifle which lay obsolete in the corner of the room.

Everything had stopped when Jim died, not only was there a gaping void left in his life by his employer, but Sebastian missed the lifestyle. He missed the hits, the hours spent on windy rooftops, the killing on Jim’s demand.

He shoved the paper marked with the address into his pocket and strode into the bedroom, grabbing his black work rucksack. It hadn’t been properly emptied since last time he used it, and as he tipped it upside down on the unmade bed two handguns and a switchblade fell out.

He packed it again, an eerie sense of calm coming over him as he mentally mapped out a plan for the next two days. He kitted himself out with a variety of weaponry-he’d like a choice when it came down to it- a change of clothes, some cash he had discovered in the bottom of a chest of drawers, and one of his new driving licenses.

He stashed the letter in the inside pocket of the bag before swiftly leaving the flat.

                                                                                                                      ***

The latch on the door lifted easily, and Sebastian slipped into the house in complete silence- it was large, detached, on a private estate Seb had had to scale a wall to enter. It had taken him and hour and a half by train to get to the address, two hours by the time he stopped to cram an all-day breakfast into his mouth at the station. The hunger had come on suddenly for the first time in weeks, just as the bloodlust had.

It was getting dark, the sky was a hazy shade of blue tinged with pink in the west.

The hall was dark and silent, the faint sound of the tv blaring upstairs. Seb ascended slowly, gun held down at his side, another concealed under his jacket. The tv got louder as he approached the door, turning the handle slowly before bursting into the room and raising the gun in one swift movement.

Adrian Kozlov slumped in a large armchair opposite the tv; apparently asleep until Sebastian had thrown the door open. He jerked, seizing the armrests either side of him as his eyes searched the room frantically for the source of the disturbance.

They widened as they fixed on Sebastian, who leant down to place his bag on the floor slowly as he held the gun steadily with his other hand.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Kozlov exclaimed, eyebrows drawn low over his bloodshot eyes as he stared at Sebastian incredulously.

“Hello, Adrian.” Seb smirked, cocking his head to one side as he watched the man squirm in his seat. It was a Jim thing.

_Wreak some havoc. Think of me._

“Who the fuck are you?” Kozlov demanded, looking past Sebastian to see if he was accompanied.

Seb raised a finger to his lips.

“Shh. Is there anyone else in the house?”

“WHO THE FU-“ Kozlov began before Seb strode forward and twisted the gun in his fingers, bringing the barrel down across Kozlov’s skull, hard.

The man groaned on the impact, slumping back into his seat as he mumbled,

“No.”

“Good.” Sebastian twirled the gun back around in his fingers.

“Back to your question, do you remember James Moriarty?”

Kozlov frowned at him blankly.

Seb sighed, “Irish, black hair, black eyes... theatrical."

“Ahh.” Kozlov growled, “That bastard.”

Sebastian smiled bitterly.

“You spat at him, remember? Do you remember that, Adrian?” He pressed the barrel of the gun into Kozlov’s forehead as he had once before; the man cringed.

“I- I don’t-“ His accent was thicker now, brought on by stress.

“I asked you a question.” Sebastian drew the gun back slightly as his fist collided with the man’s face, an audible crunch echoing through the room. It was left-handed, but the impact still had the desired effect.

“Yes! I remember.” The man in the chair admitted hurriedly, pausing to spit blood over his shoulder,

“I remember that, yes.”

“Right. So you’ll know why I’m here. Get up.” Seb instructed, taking a step back.

The man heaved himself out of his seat- he looked as though he’d aged ten years in the three that had passed.

“You won’t kill me, he wouldn’t let you.” Kozlov told Sebastian with such conviction it was almost harrowing.

“Funny how things change.” Seb muttered,

“He’s dead.”

Kozlov opened his mouth and closed it again, spite sparking to life in his cold eyes before whispering,

“Dead?”

Seb punched him again, harder this time, and the man staggered backwards.

“YES, DEAD.” He shouted, voice suddenly growing hoarse after months of barely being used.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a second gun, raising both to Kozlov’s forehead as the man regained his balance.

“So,” Seb wavered the guns around slightly, “Of which are you most fond, Adrian, your kneecaps or your balls?”

Kozlov took half a step forward, eyes baring into Sebastian’s.

“Fuck you.” He spat.

Seb stood silently for a second, face unreadable, before aiming a shot at the man’s left knee with one gun and crotch with the other simultaneously.

“Both it is.” He muttered as the man collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around him as he cradled his head in his hands, a string of Russian obscenities escaping his lips.

Sebastian just watched, letting the process draw itself out. His fingers were perfectly still.

“Ready for more?” He demanded after a few minutes of the Kozlov’s moans of agony, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his face upwards to face him.

“You should have known this was coming.” Seb told him quietly,

“Your days were numbered the moment you that _saliva left your fucking lips._ ”

He threw Kozlov’s head back; his body followed, limply leaning back against the bottom of the chair.

The man mustered one last curse in Russian before adding,

“Your boss is dead, arsehole. And I’ll spit in his face in Hell.”

Sebastian cracked his knuckles.

Kozlov took it back before he was finally allowed to die.


	3. Letter #3

The third letter was a long time coming. Expecting another month-long interval, Sebastian had sat staring at the front door for the entirety of the 22nd of March- four weeks after the arrival of the second letter to the day. He sat there for the whole of the next day too. And the day after that.

Nothing was to arrive, and Seb began to panic; the prospect of more letters was the only thing fuelling him now. In the beginning he had blundered through in shock, then was left running purely on anger and bitterness when the reality kicked in. Now though, now he still had a tiny shred of Jim to hold on to; it was a crutch. Everything started to go wrong again when the letters stopped.

When two months had passed he started drinking again. He’d never kicked the habit entirely, often requiring a shot of something in the morning to help him get out of bed, but it had been a long time since he had lost control.

Adrian Kozlov had put things into perspective for a while- Seb knew alcohol wasn’t what he needed- he needed stimulation; a rush. Violence on Jim’s command had satisfied that hunger once, but now he found himself with a lack of worthy victims, and so he turned to the next best thing.

The first night he brought someone back to the flat was the night before his birthday.

He’d been vaguely aware of the date creeping closer for a few weeks, but had pushed the thought to the back of his mind; too many memories. He’d planned to let the day come and go quietly, hoping that if he didn’t say it out loud it would just cease to exist.

But on the evening of the night before he couldn’t stop thinking about it- suddenly it all felt too real. He didn’t want the morning to roll on, for him to be another year older and Jim still frozen at thirty-six. It was wrong. Backwards.

He’d decided to go out then, throwing on his leather jacket and slamming the door of the flat behind him, not bothering to change out of the t shirt he’d been wearing for the past two days.

The streets were crawling; _Friday night,_ he mused.

He walked into the first bar he saw, taking a seat in a quiet corner and nursing drink after drink until his head was spinning and he couldn’t even remember what the date was anyway.

Two hours later the drummer of one of the live bands had his hand on Seb’s leg as he laughed too loudly in his ear.

Four hours later Sebastian had slammed him against the kitchen counter with a handful of his hair.

Seb supposed he had looked a little like Jim, but taller, plainer. Green eyes instead of black.

He’d dragged himself out of bed early the next morning, ignoring the pounding in his head, and showered. The room still smelt of sweat and whiskey; it made him nauseous.

When he’d scrubbed every inch of his skin to a point which he was nearly happy with, he wrapped himself in a towel and ventured back into the bedroom to get dressed.

The drummer- Seb hadn’t bothered to learn his name- stirred where he lay, still naked and tangled in the sheets. He looked much younger than Sebastian had remembered.

His eyes flickered open and he stretched as he caught sight of Seb pulling on his t shirt, dark shadows framing his eyes.

“Morning, Colonel.” The voice was English, with a slight cockney twang.

Sebastian scowled at the title,

“You’ve got ten minutes to get out.”

The drummer’s eyes widened slightly,

“Hey, mate, I thought-“

“I SAID FUCK OFF!” Seb shouted across the room, startling the other man, who clambered sheepishly out of the bed and got dressed swiftly. Seb turned away and left the room, not reacting to the sound of the front door being closed behind his visitor.

He felt disgusting.

He needed fresh air and cool, minty breath on his tongue. He needed Jim.

It was then that came the knock on the door; Sebastian scowled again, assuming the drummer had left something behind.

He yanked it open, ready to growl that whatever he had forgotten he could say goodbye to, when he came face to face with a soldier.

A soldier at first glance, at least. He wore a cap, khaki jacket, accompanied with a cropped white vest, red and white striped thong and army boots.

Seb stared as the man put his hand on one hip and winked,

“I’m here for the birthday boy.”

“What the fuck,” Seb mumbled, eyebrows furrowing as he looked the man up and down,

“I didn’t order a-“

“Special delivery!” The man interrupted him, smiling widely, “I’m a birthday surprise.”

Sebastian froze and his heart began to pound as he realised what this was. _Birthday surprise._ No one knew when his birthday was, he had made a point of it. No one except-

“Jim? This was Jim? He gave you a letter?” Seb demanded.

The smile fell from the man’s face slightly and he proceeded to pull a small, black envelope out of his pocket and hand it to Sebastian.

“This comes with the full soldier experience!” He plastered the grin back on.

“No thanks.” Seb muttered as he shut the door in the man’s face, already tearing open the envelope.

_Sebastian,_

_Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to my dear Sebastian Augustus Moran, happy birthday to you!_

_You must’ve known I wouldn’t forget, oh no, never. I even got you a little present, do you like him? A little trashy but I’m enjoying myself. Today is a good day, well there it’s your birthday, but here it’s a good day. By here I mean the timeline in which I am currently writing this letter; guess who just stole the crown jewels?_

Sebastian went cold all over.

_Oh yes, I’ve been planning all this for a while now. Please don’t get angry over that, Sebastian, I know you’re going to want to, but it really isn’t worth working yourself into a tither over._

_Speaking of which; enjoy your stripper. And that’s an order. I know it must be getting difficult for you by now, you’re a physical being and eventually you’ll need more than violence and alcohol to keep your motor running. This is my reward for staying loyal all this time, bless your soul._

_That is of course if you haven’t already fucked someone else, in which case you’re dead to me._

The letter slipped from Sebastian’s fingers as he felt the blood seemingly disappear from all of his limbs and collect in his face, suffocating his brain.

That was it, that was where the letter ended.

He had done it, he’d fucked someone else and all this time Jim had known he would. Knew he would betray him. Seb grabbed handfuls of his own hair and pulled wildly, interrupted only by a second knock at the door.

He nearly ripped it off it’s hinges tearing it open, this time meeting the eyes of a woman.

She was a head and a half shorter than him, slim and pretty. Clad in a heavily exaggerated policewoman costume, stockings and suspenders included, she struck the same pose as the man had, declaring,

“I have a warrant for the arrest of Sebastian Moran for being simply toooo sexy.”

Seb held his hand out.

“The letter, you’ve got a letter, give it to me.” He demanded.

The woman rolled her eyes and obliged, adding, “You want the dance or not?” When he snatched it.

“No.” He didn’t look at her as he slammed the door shut again.

He sat down this time, fingers trembling as he opened the second letter and unfolded it.

_Just kidding! You’ve got to learn not to take everything so seriously, Moran. This is me we’re dealing with, after all._

_Thought I’d send you a second treat, I know you like a bit of both, again I took some liberties with the outfits, but I know you enjoy a uniform. Or is that me?_

_Don’t beat yourself up, Basher. Relieve your stress in any way you choose, I insist, just remember who you belong to._

_That’s me, Sebastian. You’ll be mine forever; when we’re both dead and gone, our bodies reduced to no more than dust, when the sun burns up the earth and it’s inhabitants die screaming, when there’s nothing left but asteroids and collapsing stars, you’ll be mine._

_Happy Birthday._

_P.S. I love you._

It took a few moments before Seb realised he was crying. There was salt in his eyes, salt in his mouth, salt in his wounds. He was Jim’s, still. It was all he could think,

_I am his, I am his, I am his._

_I am his and I am forgiven._

The unfamiliar scent still lingered in the bedroom, but it no longer made Seb want to vomit and claw his way out of his own skin. It simply existed, something that couldn’t be taken back, but something that could be left in the past. A means to an end.

What made him want to die was the fact that Jim’s scent had evaporated. Faded, masked, it didn’t matter either way, but it was gone, and it would never come back.

 _I am his,_ Sebastian thought, _but how can I be if I can’t even remember what he smelt like?_

He curled up underneath the sheets, thinking about what Jim would have said if he was here. Talked about space or something probably.

_So many unexplored and misunderstood corners of the universe to consider, Sebastian, and you’re getting caught up on my cologne?_

Seb began to laugh, spasms racking through his body as he heard his own voice becoming hysterical. 

“I miss you, Jim.” He snickered; nothing was funny, but his body was insisting on forcing trembling giggles through his teeth. Jim had got like that sometimes, everything was funny and his eyes would be wide and manic.

“I miss you so much. And I’m yours.”


End file.
